Reassurance
by Ecri
Summary: Steve travels to New York soon after his release from the hospital after the events of CA:TWS. He wants Tony's help in contacting the other Avengers to reassure himself that they are well. On the way, Steve sees Bucky. He begins to question himself and needs Tony's help to find answers and ease doubts he didn't know he had. Can Tony help him? Fourth and final chapter is up.
1. Chapter 1

Reassurance

By Ecri

A Marvel Cinematic Universe story

Author's Note: When I started writing this, I thought it would be a short couple of pages with Steve and Tony. Then Tony left the room, and Bucky took over. I don't know where it all came from, but I do like when that happens. Please read and review as this is my first venture into the Marvel fandom, and I'd love to know what you think. I have lots of ideas for other stories as well, but I was most compelled to write this one. Thanks go out to SolarRose29 both for inspiring me to join in on this fandom with some of the most beautifully written stories it's been my pleasure to read, and for giving me a shout out with her story Healing Will Occur. I'm so grateful!

Potentially, spoilers for all Marvel films through Captain America: The Winter Soldier. The bit about Clint and what he was up to during The Winter Soldier came from an Internet post I saw about a cut scene from the film. Also, look for the Stan Lee cameo!

Soon after S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse, Steve Rogers felt himself begin to crumble. He knew most people believed it had started upon his awakening in the 21st Century. He'd been through the mandatory counseling and the awkward concern from people who didn't really know him but thought they did. Though he would never have claimed there'd been no impact from his thawing and subsequent return to life, he hadn't been in nearly the dire condition people had imagined. It seemed the serum had made him resilient in more than just body. In the beginning, each day had brought to minds some fresh loss that hadn't occurred to him right away. Each day, it felt like he was losing everything, especially Peggy, over and over again. Eventually he had to accept that the people he'd known were, if not dead, then changed, moved on without him, leaving him alone.

At first, even while looking around some weird and, for him, unimaginable, Times Square from the far future, all he could think about was Peggy and the date he'd obviously missed. It was impossible to deny the veracity of Fury's claim that he'd been asleep for nearly seventy years when the evidence was all around him and edged in neon. It was, of course, in more than that. The 21st Century was different in so many ways. The neon, the billboards, sure, but there was also a preponderance of cars. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and exotic foods and the metallic tang of technology. It was noisier, too. People talked too loudly. Music blared from everywhere…stores, passing cars, handheld devices…the cacophony sometimes made it hard to think.

Then had come the understanding that Peggy wasn't the only one he'd lost. He'd never had the time in the forties to come to terms with Bucky's death, and now he had to face the thought that each and every one of the Howling Commandos could be gone as well. He'd insisted on looking up each one to see what had happened to them and had been pleased to find they'd survived the war. Only two had lived to see this latest century, and only one still lived. Steve had been reluctant to look him up. He wouldn't be the man Steve had known, and it was hard enough to see Peggy forget who he was whenever they spent time together. He couldn't bear that same sort of recurring loss from another of his best friends.

Howard Stark, too, was gone. He and Howard had grown close during the war, and the thought of him surviving that, and then dying in a car accident, had saddened him in a way that none of the other deaths had. Howard was usually out of the line of fire and the idea of losing him during the war had been remote. It was hard to lose a civilian—and one of the first people who had shown him any respect.

Meeting Tony Stark himself had been a surprise. He'd read S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, of course, but he'd seen so much of Howard in the man that it had taken his breath away. He'd briefly imagined he might have a real friend here in this world. Then in the next moment, it was gone in a miasma of insults, provocations, and disrespect that he hadn't experienced since Colonel Phillips had dismissed him as a chorus girl. Still, he'd good naturedly accepted the role of target for Tony Stark's wit, and all the 'grandpa' comments meant to demean his ability with technology hadn't really bothered him…at least, not on his good days.

Steve understood far more than his billionaire friend believed. He'd been in the 21st century long enough to learn how to use the tech, as Tony called it, and to pick up the lingo, as Clint said. The only problem was that every once in awhile it wore him down. He missed the things he remembered from his past, but it was nostalgia, familiarity, not ignorance or incompetence. Things had changed, and he was tired of being overjoyed when he did understand a cultural reference, and he was tired of being uncertain he was using the current vernacular correctly…because it was those things rather than the iPhone and the blue tooth that baffled him. Some weeks, he wouldn't bat an eye. He'd go through his days as though born in this century. Other weeks, it would hit him hard. Some casual reference would get him thinking, and he'd be wishing for a few hours with his old friends or a chance to go to The Stork Club with Peggy.

Then there were the tangible things…places, behaviors, modes of dress, music…everything was different. Ebbet's Field was gone. Horn and Hardart had disappeared. The Dodgers played in _Los Angeles_. Men didn't always wear suits and ties to their office jobs, and women didn't necessarily wear dresses at all. Hats—for women and men—were mostly a thing of the past. Swing had apparently had a comeback, but he'd missed it. Then there were the things the people around him took for granted, but which seemed to him to come from the pages of _Amazing Stories_ or _Weird Tales_.

In those early days, the losses had hit him sometimes every hour, but he'd coped. He'd managed.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s demise was different. The clandestine agency had, in his mind, replaced the S.S.R. Peggy had founded it with Howard's help, and even Colonel Phillips had had a hand in it all in the early days. It had given him exactly what he needed in order to keep going. It had become a symbol to him, a link to his past that had thrived in this bizarre future. He'd learned to like and to trust most of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he'd met. The unfortunate truth was that been suspicious of Fury ever since he'd discovered what the S.H.I.E.L.D. director intended to do with the tesseract. Though he'd willingly become an agent, he'd never lost the belief that Fury was keeping something from him. Fury aside, the idea that Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. who knew how long ago, and that the missions he'd been on may have aided them in their deceptions and their long term plans made him physically ill.

Shortly after saying goodbye to Natasha at Fury's fake gravesite, Steve decided that he needed to contact Tony Stark. He wanted, and in some ways he _needed_ the Avengers to assemble, but he couldn't reach all of them. He had no idea how to contact Thor. Dr. Banner might still be with Tony, but when he'd last seen Clint, the former circus performer had caught up with him and told him that S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned Hawkeye to kill him. Something Clint swore he'd never had any intention of doing.

Clint had been shaken by the thought that they believed he could simply be ordered to kill America's First Superhero as he'd put it. It had earned a laugh from him at the time, reminding him of Phil Coulson, who'd uttered similar words when they'd first met. He'd told the marksman he wasn't anything of the kind, but Clint ignored him.

As soon as he'd gotten the order, Clint had feigned anger that Captain America could go rogue and insisted it would be his pleasure to put an arrow through him. Instead, he'd found his friend and informed him that there had been a tracking device planted on him. After destroying it, Hawkeye told him to tell Natasha he was safe and that he was going into hiding.

He hoped she found him and that they'd meet him at Stark Tower. Not the most clandestine rendezvous point, but probably the best fortified. The Tower was practically a fortress now, and Tony Stark took more precautions with security than any ten government agencies. When he wasn't tinkering with his suit, he was tinkering with new and innovative "security protocols" as he termed it.

Steve had left D.C. just before dawn to avoid rush hour traffic in the beltway. Sam had been reluctant to let him go alone, but Steve had smiled and assured his new friend that he could take care of himself. Besides Sam was still trying to compile intel on the Winter Soldier through his military contacts. They hadn't learned much yet, but Sam had sworn to help him find his friend.

As he hit the road in the early hours of the day, Steve lost himself in the combination of autonomy, freedom, and anonymity the motorcycle—complete with helmet and visor—gave him. He'd managed to keep his face out of the media, except for the incident when Hydra had surrounded him on camera, and driving down the major roadways between the nation's capital and his home state made it easier to pretend he was just a normal person, an 'average Joe' instead of a would-be superhero and a serum-enhanced super soldier. It was a comforting fiction, and he allowed it to soothe his _shattered_ psyche.

His thoughts turned to Bucky caught in the guise of the Winter Soldier. He'd seen anger and hatred in those familiar eyes, but he'd also seen confusion. This above anything else had given Steve hope that Bucky was still in there. For too long he'd thought Bucky was dead. Now, to find him did little to comfort him. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't Bucky, either.

Yeah. Shattered.

He exhaled slowly to dislodge the spiraling thoughts from his head. Putting on his turn signal, he eased into the left lane heading for the rest stop. He'd been on the road a few hours and felt the need to stand up and stretch his legs, though he had to steel himself for the close contact with so many people. The anonymity he'd embraced on the road seemed less secure here, and he felt exposed, unprotected, and on display. He wished he had his mask, but, though it was a way to hide his identity, he knew that would only have made him more noticeable. The display case full of beverages lured him over with the promise of a cool drink, and he meandered in that direction.

While on the road, pretending not to notice the blatant differences between the forties and present day had been somewhat easier. Here, in this Mecca of tourists, truck drivers, and college students on their own for the first time, it became a challenge.

Computers were available in an Internet café on one side of the facility. Along the other, there was a gift shop, which, aside from the usual gum, cigarettes, sodas, and pain relievers, offered pre-paid phone cards, a kiosk where you could print digital photos from a camera or a phone, and even pre-paid gasoline cards. As he made his purchase of a M&Ms, Whoppers, and a large bottle of water—and he shook his head still unhappy that water was bottled and sold like soda—he saw a sign touting a snack called Dippin' Dots that vaguely disturbed him.

He spent a bit of time people watching, but soon realized he was actually searching the crowd for Hydra agents. Paranoia didn't suit him, and he stood, tossing the half-eaten candy in a trashcan along with the empty water bottle.

Paranoia gave way to irritation as he made his way back to his motorcycle, donned his helmet, and kicked the bike into gear. He wanted to enjoy his drive, but he also wanted to see Tony as soon as possible. He wasn't sure why. Something gnawed at him and he thought Tony Stark might be able to put his mind at ease. He supposed he wanted to know he could still rely on Stark to be, well, Stark. Nothing in his life was still what it had seemed. If Tony were still unchanged, and if he could help Steve assemble the Avengers, he might be able to pull himself together. He might be able to stop the crumbling.

He made good time, losing himself in the rhythm of the road and in the 40s music he'd downloaded onto his phone just for the trip. A bottleneck in the Lincoln Tunnel and the tail end of the city's morning rush hour had him arriving in Manhattan later than he would have liked. Still, it was 10:30 A.M. and he wasn't supposed to meet Tony in the Tower for another hour. He parked his motorcycle in the Tower's VIP parking lot as Tony had asked him to do, and swapped his helmet for a baseball cap. He didn't like arriving early. His mother had considered that as rude as arriving late, so he decided to retreat to a nearby diner to get a cup of coffee. No fancy chain coffee shop for him. He preferred coffee to the strong bitter-yet-sweet brews that Tony and Pepper called latte and macchiato.

He was almost to the door when he realized he had no cash. He'd spent the last of his on tolls on the way here. Then he remembered the little card Natasha had given him. It was an ATM card in a fake name. The Russian agent had insisted on setting up a phony identity for both of them as well as one for Sam. She was adamant that he had to use it on this trip until they could work out some way to avoid being traced by Hydra. She thought Tony could help with that.

Thinking about Natasha's concerns, he decided to make a longer walk out of it and not simply stop at the closest ATM to the Tower. His good mood evaporated as he moved through the crowd. Having maintained a happy fiction on the road, he found it impossible to continue to do so here. He was still anonymous enough. In a city the size of New York, it was easy to disappear in a crowd. Anonymity wasn't the problem. Ignoring the technology of the age, however, had just become impossible.

Everywhere he went, people had their heads down staring at the little screens of their mobile devices and the not so little screens of their iPads and tablets. Checking emails, playing games, listening to music that was a bit too loud, even watching movies as they walked, there was no time for the polite nods, smiles, and even occasional hellos that would have been prevalent in the 1940s.

He shook his head thinking back to the 1940s when so many people didn't have telephones in their homes. The only way to call someone was to go to the drug store (as most people called them) and ask to use the payphone. If the person you wanted to reach didn't have a phone, you called the store on the corner nearest them and the storeowner had some kid run the message to the right person, who would then come to the drug store and return the call. Efficient it wasn't, but calls back then were meant to communicate something important—marriages, births, deaths, illnesses, and recoveries. It seemed that people today were talking more—or texting—but they weren't actually communicating anything of any importance.

Foot traffic was heavy in Manhattan, but as his gaze penetrated the crowd, there, in a flash of long hair and familiar eyes, Steve Rogers stared the past in the face. Bucky's face. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, his eyes wide, his mouth frozen open. Someone moved across his line of sight and when they stepped away, Bucky was gone. Steve's eyes frantically scanned the area, and his throat worked to swallow his heart and get it back down where it was supposed to be. He moved in a tight circle scanning his surroundings, but saw no sign of his friend.

Was it his imagination? Was his tired brain conjuring the one thing he wanted to see above all else? Steve knew Bucky was alive, knew Bucky had saved him, pulling him from the Potomac after their fight aboard the helicarrier, but that was all he knew. Was he hallucinating? It wasn't unprecedented. Grief could do crazy things.

He could remember seeing Peggy everywhere when he'd first thawed. Every dark head, every flash of red in the distance, he'd been sure was Peggy, his Peggy and not the one that had grown old without him. He could even recall a time after his mother had died, when he'd driven himself crazy seeing her everywhere he went. Church services, the market, just walking down the street…everywhere he went he saw her. Eventually, it had stopped, and he assumed such sightings depended on time and acceptance.

Could this be real? Was it Bucky? Following him? Searching for him? Remembering something but too shaken to find him and talk to him? He realized, reluctantly, that Bucky could also be there to finish him off.

 _You're my mission._

Bucky's words resounded through his head, and he was lost in his thoughts for some time. Someone glared at him and tossed a curse over his shoulder and Steve came back to himself. He'd been motionless too long. He pulled his cap lower and shoved his hands—his shaking hands—back into his pockets. There was a time, he thought, in a wave of nostalgia, when, no matter what you did on a city street, you would never hear that sort of language.

He walked, still looking for the ATM, but his thoughts were darker, scattered. Bucky was still alive. Sam was looking for him, and had vowed to call Steve if he picked up his trail, but they hadn't had a single solitary lead. He wished he could be sure he'd actually seen Bucky. Was his friend following him? Was Bucky as confused and upset as he was? Was there a chance Bucky had remembered who he was regardless of what he'd said on the helicarrier?

As he wondered these things, he realized his attention was anywhere but on his surroundings. Chastising himself he scanned the area and picked up his pace. He could blame his distraction on seeing Bucky, or on the long, tiring trip from D.C., or on the fact that he hadn't had more than soda and candy since breakfast, which had been at least six hours ago, but such excuses didn't sit right with him. It didn't matter why he was distracted. Any distraction gave your enemy—Hydra? Bucky?—an edge.

One last look around didn't reveal anything he'd been hoping to find. Not Bucky, not an ATM. He was wondering what his next step should be when his phone rang. He reached into his back pocket and pulled it out glancing at the screen. It was Stark. He hit the button connecting the call.

"Tony?"

"Hey, Cap," Tony sounded distracted. "I just wanted to give you a heads up. I'm going to be a little late. Pepper wrangled me into a meeting uptown, and I'm stuck in traffic. I shouldn't be too long. Can we meet at…?"

His phone let out an odd tone he hadn't heard before. "Tony?" He pulled it from his ear and stared at the screen. The words Low Battery blinked at him twice and then the phone shut itself off. Frustrated, he put it in his jacket pocket and looked around for a payphone. If he could call Tony and find out if he were just changing the time of the meeting, or maybe the place, or was it both?

Steve glanced around again, but he didn't see any public phones. Not the familiar glass booths, or the less old-fashioned kiosks, or even a sign in a storefront claiming there was a phone inside for public use. He realized there was little demand for such a thing when most citizens carried phones in their back pockets.

He lengthened his stride eating up the distance between blocks, but he saw no sign of any sort of phone. Maybe someone would loan him a cell phone. He looked more carefully at the people sharing the sidewalk with him. Business men in suits, kids in jeans and hooded sweatshirts, women in shorts and sandals dressed in less than Rita Hayworth in that pinup that Dugan had liked so much. He approached one businessman and put on his friendliest face. "Um, excuse me, sir, could I borrow…"

The man walked fast and ignored Steve.

"Sir," Steve tried again with the next passer by. "I was wondering…"

The man glared at him and shoved him aside.

"Ma'am," Steve called to a woman, and then forgot how to speak when he realized that below the denim jacket she sported, the woman was wearing flannel pajamas and bedroom slippers.

"Pervert," she yelled at him over her shoulder as he stared in open-mouthed shock.

Steve shook himself out of it and tried again. He saw an older man, dressed casually. He had white hair and a mustache and a twinkle in his eye. "Pardon me, sir. My phone battery died and I was in the middle of a call. I was wondering…"

"Go away, kid," the man said.

"So…" Steve whispered to himself. "I guess that's a no." He felt defeated. Glancing around, he realized that the search for Bucky, an ATM, and a phone had left him unsure of where he was. He wasn't seeing anything familiar. It could be just the changes from mid 20th century to the early 21st, but he was well and truly lost. He took a breath and reasoned with himself. It was still Manhattan after all. If he kept walking he'd find some landmark he would recognize. He glanced at a pole on the corner, but the street sign was missing.

Maybe he should focus on finding a working ATM, get a bit of extra cash, and hail a taxi. A cabbie would certainly know how to get back to Avengers Tower as Tony insisted on calling it now.

He walked about 10 blocks before choosing a machine and approaching it. There was a woman ahead of him, but she finished quickly, and he stepped up.

Slipping in the card, he punched in his code. The machine made a strange noise and the screen flashed a few times before going black. He stared at it a moment waiting for the card to come out and the screen to come on, but neither happened. He punched in his code again, but it had no effect.

He tried it once more, hitting the keys slightly harder than was strictly necessary. He closed his eyes feeling a wave of frustration overwhelm him. The machine wasn't responding. He hit it once. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

It was as if the machine were responsible for his day, his month, and every bad thing that had happened to him since he'd come out of the ice…since he'd been born. He hit the machine again hard enough to dent it. Again. He screamed his frustration feeling much as he did when he went at the punching bags at the gym. He heard a sound behind him, and whirled around. There was a crowd drawing near. A Police cruiser was parked at the curb with lights flashing. Steve backed away. Police. _Or Hydra_? He gripped his backpack wondering if he should risk taking out his shield. It would give him away, but if these officers were actually Hydra innocent people could be hurt. The shield identified him as Captain America even if no one recognized his face, but at least with it out, he'd be able to defend any innocents that ended up in the line of fire. He backed away again until his back hit the machine. Things spiraled out of control after that.

The Avengers * The Avengers The Avengers * The Avengers * The Avengers

Tony sighed as Happy edged the limo through the clogged streets of Manhattan. He'd told Pepper he didn't want to take this meeting, but she'd insisted that in light of what had happened to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the last month, they should try to make an effort to convince the Board of Directors that business was still a top priority for both Tony Stark and Stark Industries. Reluctantly, he'd allowed himself to be persuaded. Happy had suggested it would be much more comforting to the Board to see Tony arrive by limo rather than to see Iron Man tearing through Manhattan in his red and gold suit. Tony wasn't sure he agreed, but he gave in when Pepper glared at him.

He used a similar glare on his watch as though that could make it tell him a different time. He wished his call to Cap had been more successful, but Steve's phone must have died or something because they'd been cut off. He sighed again and rested his head on the back of the seat so he was looking up at the sky through the glass of the back window. "Happy, I could walk faster than this."

"I know. It's not my fault! There's some kind of police activity up ahead."

Tony's head snapped up. "Police activity? Where?" He craned his head around to see up ahead. Happy was right. Aside from the already jammed mid-day traffic, there were several police cars and at least a dozen of New York's finest standing around an ATM. Whatever was going on, there would be video or photos. YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook were about to be bombarded with images of whatever the dozen or more people he could see were shooting.

He watched as the officers moved forward. One was bringing a set of handcuffs into view and brandished them towards the person backed against the ATM. Tony's eyes widened in shock.

Steve. Steve Rogers was the man by the—as he could now see, severely damaged—ATM. He was backing away from the men, one hand up in a placating back off gesture. The other was reaching into his pocket. _Oh, no!_ Tony saw one of the cops reaching for his weapon. Steve must have realized his mistake because he slowly brought his hand away from his body and held it high. In that moment most of the officers were on him, and Steve went down hard disappearing under a wall of NYPD uniforms.

"Wait for me, Hap," Tony shouted as he threw open the door of the limo and sprinted through the streets. Happy's protests followed him, but he barely heard them. Reaching the police cars, he held up his hands and called out in his most commanding Iron Man voice. "Hey. Can I help?"

A ranking officer turned a glare on him. Recognition softened his expression, but the man shook his head. "Thanks, Mr. Stark. We've got it."

"I was talking to him," Tony admitted pointing at Steve. He saw that Steve wasn't struggling. Of course he wasn't. Boy Scouts don't fight police officers. The sight of Steve Rogers on his knees and submitting to such manhandling stoically with his hands behind his head was eerily familiar. He'd seen the footage a short time ago when S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen apart, and the only thing missing was the gun.

 _Oh, no, there it was._ He bit his tongue when he saw the officer with a gun pointed right at Steve's head. Several others in the small circle had their own weapons aimed at the super soldier. He suppressed a shiver that wanted to race down his spine, and did what he did best. He reacted.

"Gentlemen, this is all a misunderstanding," he said with a fake calm. He wished Steve were in his uniform or that without it he was as recognizable as Tony was. If these guys knew it was Captain America, they probably wouldn't be taking this quite so far. Come to think of it, why didn't they recognize him? The S.H.I.E.L.D. take down hadn't been that long ago. They should recognize him. He shook it off as something to worry about later. "This is a friend of mine. I'll take full responsibility." He spoke quickly and authoritatively wondering what Pepper would say if he were the one kneeling on the sidewalk with a gun to his head.

"I'll pay any damages."

He glanced at Steve, but the man had a faraway look in his eyes. Tony frowned. It was as though he had no interest in what was happening to him. He moved cautiously forward trying to get the other man to notice him. It worked to a degree, but when Steve looked up and caught his eye, Tony actually took a step back. The look on his face was one of such intense loss that it actually hurt to see it. "Steve," he whispered, not sure what else to say. The police, the city, even Happy were all forgotten. "Steve, what happened?"

Steve blinked and confusion replaced the loss behind his eyes. "Tony?"

Tony gave him his brightest smile. "The one and only. Let me handle this."

He looked at the officer in charge slightly surprised to see Happy and Pepper inserting themselves into the small knot of civilians, police officers, and off duty superheroes. Not really sure how she'd caught up with them, he figured he'd let Pepper handle this. She was good at it.

"We'll be sure to pay any damages…"

"…crime has been committed…"

"…property damage…no injuries…"

Tony let the words wash over him and he knelt by Steve's side unsure if he should touch him at all. "What happened, Cap?"

Steve shook his head. "Not sure. I…" He stopped himself and shook his head again as though that would help. Then he winced and put a hand to his head as he came somewhat out of what Tony could only call a stupor. "Not here, Tony." He looked up at Tony in concern. "Are we sure they're not Hydra?"

Tony's mouth snapped shut. He hadn't thought of that. He stood abruptly and put a hand out to keep Pepper from getting any closer to the officers. "Happy," he said, "take Pepper and Steve back to the car."

He looked at the officer in charge. "Officer, this is a friend of mine," Tony gestured to Steve. "He's had a rough time. How about I make a donation to the Policemen's Retirement Fund?"

As he talked, Happy led Pepper who led Steve back to the car. He handed the officer a business card. It was for Stark Industries head of legal. "Please call this woman if you have any questions."

He kept talking, making generic placating comments as he walked backwards towards the car where Happy and Pepper were helping Steve slip inside and away from prying eyes. Once they were all in the limo, Happy moved as fast as the traffic allowed, which wasn't fast at all, and Tony saw the police officers moving people on and breaking up the still gaping crowd. He was glad the car had tinted windows. He didn't think Steve should be seen in this state, even if he hadn't been identified yet.

He turned to Pepper just as Happy finally turned the corner leaving the ATM and diminishing crowd behind. "Where did you come from?"

Pepper was still looking in concern in Steve's direction, but Tony's words brought her eyes to his. "Oh, that's the nicest greeting you can come up with…"

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. "No, I meant, you weren't here, and suddenly you were…"

"So it didn't occur to you that I heard about police activity and was worried you were involved…"

"You don't just _hear_ about police activity …"

"Well, you didn't get far from the office. I could see the ATM and the cops…"

"From the office window? Were you staring out the window watching me leave, 'cause that's so sweet."

"I wasn't watching exactly, and it's not sweet." She was blushing as they ran through their conversation, but Tony still managed to keep a small part of his attention on Steve.

"How do you do that?" Steve's voice was enough to shut them both up and they turned to him.

"Do what?" Tony asked.

"Talk over each other and yet hear everything the other is saying," Steve said softly. He still hadn't looked at them, and Tony found that somehow alarming.

"We perfected that years ago," Pepper admitted with a smile. "It's the only way to talk to Tony sometimes.

Finally, Steve looked at them. "Tony, Pepper," he glanced at the front seat. "Happy, thanks. For intervening I mean. I…just…thank you. I'll pay the damages to the ATM. I don't want you to do that."

"Don't worry about that now, Steve," Pepper said softly in a tone Tony recognized. Steve wouldn't be paying for anything. "Are you okay?"

Steve didn't answer right away. When he did, Tony saw that look of loss and confusion was back in his eyes. "I've no idea, ma'am."

"Steve," Pepper said softly with nothing but kindness in her voice. "We've been through that. Call me Pepper."

"Yes, M…Pepper. I…" the thought trailed off and Tony and Pepper shared a look of concern. Happy pulled into the private V.I.P. parking lot at Avengers Tower. They parked in their private space, Tony noted that Steve's motorcycle was already parked in the private garage as well, and he wondered how that could have happened if Steve had been wandering the streets.

The elevator ride was silent. As soon as the doors opened into the suite, Tony called out to his A.I. "J.A.R.V.I.S., I need you to check all social media and police records and remove any references—videos, photos, tweets or posts—to today's events at the ATM on East 61st Street and Madison Avenue. Continuous monitoring in perpetuity." There. That way if anyone decided to keep trying to post, tweet, or whatever, they'd never be successful.

"Of course, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

He made his way to the bar. Steve followed and sat heavily on a stool. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was obviously lost in his thoughts and far away from 21st Century New York City. Tony poured a drink for himself and one for Steve setting it in front of the oblivious man.

He turned to Pepper who was blatantly worried about the Captain. Arm around her shoulders he led her toward the elevator. "Pepper," he spoke her name softly and she turned towards him. He sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but he might be easier to talk to…"

She held up her hands in surrender anticipating his request. "I'm going. He's not actually comfortable around me anyway. Let me know if there's anything I can do. I'll go to the office." She gestured down the hall, and Tony knew she meant the home office in the Tower that he'd had built to surprise her with when he'd remodeled. He had wanted an excuse for her to work from home when the mood struck either of them or if some Avengers thing made him too worried for her safety to allow her to leave. She glanced at Steve, but turned to the elevators with Happy right behind her.


	2. Need

Reassurance

Chapter 2: Need

By Ecri

A Marvel Cinematic Universe story

Author's Note: I'm not getting any feedback, so I'm not sure if anyone is even interested in me continuing this. Please read and review.

Tony crossed the room back to the bar and slammed back his drink, the burn of alcohol as it slid down his throat and the oaky smell of the whiskey distracting him from his discomfort. Pouring another, he left it untouched on the bar.

"Cap?"

"Don't."

"What?" Tony asked confused by the reply, since he hadn't done anything yet.

"I'm not in uniform right now, okay. Save the rank for when I am."

"Noted." Tony said as he moved around to sit in the stool beside the soldier. "What's going on with you, Ca…Steve?"

He looked up at Tony. "I think I might be losing my mind."

Tony snorted. "Sorry, but you're about the most stable guy I know."

"Don't," Steve said again.

"Don't? Again? Don't what? Would it be easier to tell me what I'm allowed to say?"

"Tony…I…can I ask…" he sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. A moment later, his shoulders stiffened.

Tony realized that Captain America was having some kind of a breakdown. Okay, maybe not Captain America. He wasn't in his spangly uniform after all, and he had asked not to be addressed by his rank, but he was Steve Rogers and Steve Rogers was—hell. How did he handle this? He couldn't stop himself from wondering if the man might cry. Crying upset him when it made sense. When it was Pepper or some senator he'd just humiliated, but this? Captain America shouldn't be struggling not to cry over a whiskey while sitting at his bar.

"Steve?" He spoke softly almost hoping that Steve wouldn't hear him. He hadn't seen any tears yet, so if they never came, they could move on without actually discussing or solving anything and then maybe crush a couple of beer cans for fun.

Steve's shoulders sagged minutely as he glanced up at Tony and suddenly Tony knew he'd do anything Steve asked just to make sure he never saw that look on the other man's face ever again. Red-rimmed eyes, glassy with unshed tears and devastation aside, Steve also looked afraid, unsure, and alone. Captain America shouldn't look like that.

"Steve? What is it? What do you want to ask?"

Steve squared his shoulders. "How much do you know about S.H.I.E.L.D.?" He shook his head as though frustrated with himself. "I mean…about what happened?"

Tony shrugged. "I've seen some footage." _Of you kneeling in the street with a gun to your head._ "I know the gist of what went down."

"How much do you know about me? Me in the past, I mean." He spoke even quicker rushing to get the words out as though they were hard to say. "I know we never talk about your father, but how much did Howard tell you?"

Tony reached for his drink and drained the glass dry before pouring another. Mention of his father had that affect on him. "I know enough. I know about the selection process for Project Rebirth. I know you had a tough time of it with all sorts of health problems. You and the Howling Commandos and how you took down Hyrdra…"

Steve nodded then and interrupted him. "What do you know about The Winter Soldier?"

Tony played with his glass swirling the alcohol around in there and wondering where this was going. He had to play along. He'd never seen Steve so fragile. "Code name for a Russian boogey man, isn't it? An assassin who appears from nowhere and takes down the most impossible targets."

"He's real." Steve whispered. "I saw him." He swallowed a couple of times and Tony wondered if it was his heart he was trying to force back into place. "I fought him." Steve reached for the glass Tony had poured, stared at it for a moment, and drank it down.

"Ohhhkaaaay."

"The Winter Soldier is Bucky. Bucky Barnes, my best friend who died from a fall off a train in 1945."

"I know who Bucky Barnes is." Tony said. His father had told him the story dozens of times. He recited it from memory sounding like a cross between a brainiac reciting facts memorized to impress a teacher and a billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist trying not to sound too disbelieving. "James Buchanan Barnes was your best friend. Hydra captured him forcing you to don your spangly outfit for the first time in earnest. You rescued the 107th and became America's First Superhero." He paused staring at Steve. "How can he be the Winter Soldier when he fell off a train in 1945?" Tony scoffed, but stopped when he saw the look in Steve's eyes. "Is that why you destroyed that ATM? Was it delayed PTSD?"

Steve ignored the question and Tony wondered if he even knew what PTSD was. They'd called it something else in the forties, hadn't they? Shell shock? He was about to ask when Steve started to explain.

"I saw him. Today. Out there. When I was looking for an ATM. I've been looking for him. Natasha thinks I should let it go, but I can't."

"Wait," he said, " _Natasha_ thinks you should let it go. This isn't the first time you've seen Barnes?"

"No, I said I fought him. We fought on the helicarrier."

"The one that crashed?" Alarm bells went off in Tony's head. "He's _here_ , in New York? Was he trying to kill you?"

Steve shook his head. "No, I don't even know if it was real or if I imagined it."

Tony didn't want to wager on Steve having hallucinated that. "J.A.R.V.I.S.," he called, knowing the A.I. was monitoring this closely. "Tell Happy to stay with Pepper. Tell Pepper to stay in the Tower."

"Yes, Sir," came the clipped reply.

"What else, Steve?" Tony had to ask, but he could see he had to tread carefully. A Steve Rogers on the verge of tears, a Steve Rogers admitting he wasn't sure if he'd seen something or imagined it, these were not normal days. He hated to think what the man had been through in D.C., but to bring him down this far it had to be some serious shit.

"I…there was a…" he cleared his throat. "You called me. My phone died and I tried to find a phone to call you back. Did you know there aren't any payphones anymore?"

Tony shrugged. "I actually never gave it much thought."

Steve kept talking as though he hadn't spoken. "No one was willing to loan their cell phone to me."

Tony laughed. "Wait, you stood around a New York City street and asked New Yorkers to let you use their personal cell phones. You've got bal…"

 _"Don't."_ Cap said once again, softly, and the defeat in the word shocked Tony.

Tony sighed fast becoming exasperated with this conversation. "So, what do you want me to say?"

"I have to ask a favor, Tony." Tony could see how hard it was for him to say those words. "I _need_ to know something. I need to know…" He sighed and the weight of the world was in that sound. He rubbed both hands through his hair, and then he looked Tony in the eyes. "Tony, given what you must know about me, about the plane I put down in 1945…could I have…was there a way out? A way to…cut the wire?"

Tony stared at him for a minute while the words all came flooding back.

 _"The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."_

 _"I think I would just cut the wire."_

 _"Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."_

 _"A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!"_

"You're asking me if there was a way for you to have, what? Flown the plane safely? Landed instead of crashing? Defused how many unknown bombs?" Tony shook his head and walked back around the bar. He reached for the bottle but put it down again without pouring. Tony didn't like seeing Steve like this. He didn't like seeing Captain America brought so low. "That's a lot of hypothetical."

"Could _you_ have done it? Could you have found a way to save the world and yourself, too?" Steve's voice was soft, broken, and Tony hated hearing that. As much as he didn't really like Captain America, he'd grown to respect Steve Rogers, albeit grudgingly.

"What's brought this on?" Tony snapped a bit too harshly. Irritation surged through him. For a moment he hated Steve all over again for doing this to him…for putting him in the position of counselor and confidant. "An encounter with your old friend makes you want to reset the clock? You thought he was dead in 1945. You found out he's alive now. That should be a good thing, right? Even if he switched sides, traitors switch back sometimes."

Steve erupted from his bar stool. The bottle on the bar wobbled and fell, 50-year-old Glenfiddich ran in a river across the bar's surface and the aroma made Tony's nose twitch.

"Bucky Barnes is no traitor! And anyone who says otherwise will answer to me!" He was shaking in anger and his fists were clenched and white-knuckled.

Tony took a step back. For a brief instant he wondered if Steve were about to turn green. He held up a hand. "Okay, I misspoke, but really, Steve what brought this on?"

Cap visibly deflated and, righting the stool he'd knocked over, sat back down heavily. "I don't know. It's all I can think about." He shook his head slowly, forlornly. "I don't belong here. I don't. I never have. I can't make sense of it."

Tony was almost relieved. "You'll get the hang of it. I can help you with the tech."

"Damn it, Tony, this isn't about cell phones and the Internet!" Steve shouted "I can't make sense out of this world. What's happened? There were different standards, morals, in the forties. Men and women were dressed when they left their homes. No one walked the street in pajamas. They wore shoes…not slippers or…beach..."

"Flip flops?" Tony supplied.

Steve nodded and continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Not everyone was helpful, not everyone was kind, but the majority of people would help if they could." He lost steam and his voice dropped to a whisper. "It's about me being alive and them being gone. Gone. Dead or not. Howard..." He stopped himself as though he just couldn't say anymore. When he went on, Tony had the feeling he'd skipped something. "He helped me out of a tough spot a time or two. He was there for me when I needed him. Not just when I needed tech, but when I needed _him_."

He shook his head and his eyes were suddenly clear and bright as they bore into Tony's. "When Erskine died, he sat down with me and poured me a drink. He didn't say a word, though he must have known the alcohol would have no affect on me. He poured the drink, we toasted Dr. Erskine, and he shook my hand. Then, when Bucky…fell….he did the same. He was _there_ for me, but we didn't have to talk about it." He shrugged. "Men didn't back then." He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I wish I could have returned the favor. I wish I could have been there for him. Maybe I could have prevented…"

He let the thought trail, but Tony knew what he was thinking. Maybe he could have prevented Howard's and Maria's deaths. It was impossible not to think it. He'd wondered it himself. Could he somehow have stopped his parents from dying if he'd been home that day instead of away at school? He'd even, in his loneliest, most grief-stricken moments, wondered if Captain America could appear from the mists of time and somehow…he cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes. Steve hadn't noticed. He was too busy torturing himself.

"Peggy, she's gone, too. This Peggy, the one I visit in the nursing home, she's not _my_ Peggy. Some days she's fine. We talk and it's almost normal. Some days she doesn't know who I am. Other times, she does but it's like she doesn't remember that we've met again a few times since my…" his voice cracked. "Since I came back. It's like I lose her over and over again. And I still love her. I really do. In her lucid moments, I can see she doesn't really believe me when I say that." He looked at Tony. "Why? Why wouldn't she believe me? Why would she forget?"

Tony swallowed hard at the pain in those words. It hadn't really occurred to him the level of hurt, the degrees of pain that Steve had suffered. Steve shook his head in wonder at the idea that Peggy didn't just understand how much he loved her. "I always will. There are days I think she loves me, but there are days she hasn't got a clue who I am."

In a sudden and unfamiliar flash of empathy, Tony felt what Steve was feeling. Not all of it. He wasn't quite egotistical enough to think he knew that much about the vintage soldier. Yes, even Tony Stark had some limits to his ego. Otherwise, he'd be a hell of a lot more like Loki. No, what he felt was a sudden understanding of Steve's feelings for Peggy. If he were in Steve's shoes somehow and Pepper didn't know him, couldn't recall their life together, if she'd somehow moved on and left him behind, he knew he'd find it impossible to go on. Steve, however, had to go on. He put that kind of pressure on himself. He wasn't just Steve. He was Captain America. What made that mean something was that Captain America could put Steve aside and do what was best for the world, the country, or even just for the other guy.

"And now this thing with Bucky," Steve went on. He was still looking Tony in the eye. "I don't belong here."

"You do, Steve." He said it softly, because he meant it more than he'd have imagined he did and that surprised him. Maybe it even scared him. "More than you know. This is about not fitting in, buddy? I've never fit in. My entire life I stood out from the crowd. You're not alone."

"I _am_ alone. My friends are gone. Howard, Dum Dum, _all_ the Commandos. My best friend is some kind of immortal assassin. My best girl is…" He stopped and swallowed hard and Tony could see his thoughts were wrapped up in Peggy Carter. "She's gone, too. Tony. She _should_ have been my wife. We _should_ have had kids, grandkids, a life to look back on." He looked Tony in the eye, and Tony swallowed hard once again to see the pain there. "I need to know if I was wrong. I need to know if there was a way out."

Tony didn't like this. This was a shattered Steve Rogers in front of him, and he, Tony Stark/Iron Man, was probably the Avenger least likely to deal with it properly. Anger surged through him, but he couldn't tell if he were angry with Steve for making him think these things, or if he were angry with Steve for thinking there was some kind of solution to what he was feeling. "And so what if you could have? Hmmm? What if I look into this and find a way you could have saved yourself? Or I find a way that _I_ could have done it if I'd been there?"

He rounded the bar and angrily and grabbed a towel to wipe up the spilled whiskey. He tossed the towel in the sink with Steve's glass. He picked up his own to do the same, but just held it, toyed with it, instead. Finally, he let loose a long sigh.

"I could study the data, compile all the variables, and maybe, _maybe_ , I could come up with something that a) you would have been able to pull off by yourself and b) you had the technical knowledge to be able to cobble together in the short amount of time you had, but what would that _prove_?"

He stared at Steve, willing the other man to understand what he was saying. " _What would it mean, Steve?_ You _can't_ go back. The knowledge alone wouldn't force a reset of time itself. It's over. It's finished." He looked at the man he knew his father had considered a friend and he wondered why he had always found it so hard to do the same. "You're good at what you do. You're Captain America." He paused while it was Steve's turn to scoff. "You are a much better man than I have ever given you credit for being."

Steve hung his head. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Tony."

Tony laughed. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Me, too." The whisper was soft, broken.

 _Shit._ The sorrow and longing in those two words combined with the lost look on that face made Tony feel like the shittiest piece of shit to ever walk the Earth. He'd been antagonistic from the beginning with the guy, a guy who was just a few months out of ice—just a few months from having fought in World War II, and, hell, probably just a few months after having lost his best friend.

He knew why he'd done it, of course. Loki and his Glow Stick of Destiny aside, he'd seen that look in Steve Rogers's eyes. The one that anyone who'd known his father had whenever they met for the first time. The Board of Directors at Stark Industries had worn it. Only Obadiah hadn't and the less said about him the better. It was a look that measured, weighed, and compared him to Howard Stark. He had seen that look in Captain America's eyes and he'd snapped.

He'd done all he could to wipe it out, take it away, and destroy any hint of an idea that the man out of time might have that he was anything like his father.

Stark hadn't realized exactly what he had wiped out when he'd done that. Tony Stark had destroyed the last vestige of hope left in Steve Rogers. It had just taken this long for the body to collapse.

It had also taken this long for Tony to realize that what he'd seen had been—in Cap's case alone—completely understandable. The businessmen and reporters and lawyers who'd looked at him and seen his father had been unimaginative idiots. Cap had been looking for his friend. He'd hoped against hope to see a small piece of something he'd lost, and Tony had crushed him.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony frowned in confusion. "What? Why?"

"When we met, I was looking for Howard. I know I shouldn't say his name around you. For what it's worth, when I knew him, he was a great guy. I don't know what he did to you or why. I don't know how he changed to the point that he could alienate you so completely." He shook his head again, and Tony was getting tired of seeing him do that. "He was my friend. When I met you, I couldn't stop myself from looking for him in you. It was wrong. You're your own man. You're not him. He's gone. They're all g-gone."

His voice cracked, and Tony felt his heart go with it.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," said Tony, "Send my father's private files to the lab. I'll be there in a minute."

"Yes, sir," Tony might have imagined it, but J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded sympathetic, even sorrowful.

Tony had work to do. "Wait for me, Steve. I'm going to go look at the files for you." He started to cross the living area, but something that nagged at him made him turn around. "Hey, Cap," he said, and this time Steve didn't correct him. "When was the last time you slept?"

Steve's answer lagged a few seconds, and Tony knew he wasn't exactly with him at the moment. "Steve? Buddy? You. Sleep. When?" Tony asked the question again and returned to the bar to put a hand on Steve's shoulder. To his surprise, Tony felt a slight tremble in the stiff, tight muscles of Steve's shoulder. It was as though he were holding himself together with sheer force of will.

Steve turned his head to stare at Tony's hand then followed the arm up until he was staring Tony in the eye. "Um, I left D.C. before dawn."

"Good to know. Not what I asked."

"Last night?"

"Are you asking me?"

Steve shrugged. "What day is it?"

"Never a good answer," Tony said under his breath. When he spoke it was super slow and super clearly. Steve was emotional and exhausted. That didn't always make for good listening skills. "Listen, Steve, You. Wait. Here. We had stuff to discuss about S.H.I.E.L.D. before this little sidebar came up. So you wait for me. Have a cup of warm milk and a nap or something. You look like you could use it. You must be running on fumes."

Steve nodded, but didn't move. Tony sighed and headed for the elevator. Once aboard he called on J.A.R.V.I.S. once more. "J.A.R.V.I.S., Avengers protocol A1."

"Yes, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said. "I've notified Ms. Potts that she and Happy won't be permitted to leave and only the Avengers themselves will be allowed to enter the Tower. Captain Rogers will not be allowed to leave."

Tony nodded in satisfaction wondering if Steve would even notice he was a prisoner until Tony decided otherwise. The way the other man looked, he doubted it. He half expected to find the man seated at the bar just as he'd left him no matter how long this little exercise in futility would take. He considered faking it. He could go down to the lab and play Galaga for an hour or so, pop upstairs and just tell Steve what he needed to hear; that he'd done the only thing he could do, that given the tech of the time and the resources—or lack thereof—on board the plane, he couldn't have found a way to save the world and himself, and that his sacrifice had been necessary to ensure the safety of those he'd left behind. Like Peggy Carter and Howard Stark.

For some reason the lying didn't sit well with him. Not the lying part of the lying. He could tell an untruth to Steve, but he wasn't sure he could fake the details. Come up with a valid explanation. Steve would press him on this. He needed to know on a primal, basic level. Steve didn't know him well, but he did know that Tony tended to talk and talk where science was concerned. If he just said, "You did what you had to do," Steve wouldn't believe it. He'd think Tony was hiding something.

So, down to his lab to do something he'd never intended to do; confront his father's past.

The Avengers * The Avengers The Avengers * The Avengers * The Avengers

Steve sat at the bar after Tony left, but his mind wasn't on where he was. He was caught in a loop analyzing his sighting of Bucky. He knew he could have been hallucinating. He had to admit that. He was tired. He'd been obsessing on Bucky since that mask had fallen away and revealed him. It was entirely possible that his exhausted brain had conjured the one person in the world he'd most wanted to see.

Bucky had saved him at the Potomac. He was certain of that. Natasha and Sam didn't see it that way. Natasha had called it a half-assed job of saving since he'd left Steve alone and injured. She'd insisted if he'd wanted to be sure Steve would survive he could have dropped Steve off at a hospital or at least administered some first aid. He didn't agree. He'd argued that if Bucky had wanted him dead, he could have left him to drown in the river. Sam had laughed at them insisting they were both right. For Steve, Bucky's actions only proved that his friend was still in there. No matter what the Winter Soldier had done over the decades, Bucky was still inside. Hidden, terrified, horrified, but he was still there.

Steve suddenly stood up and walked across the living area and back again to the bar. He had to move. He had to run. He moved to the elevator doors, but they refused to open. He hung his head in defeat and realization.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., Tony's locked me in, hasn't he?"

"I'm afraid so, Captain," the polite voice replied not unkindly.

"No chance I could convince you to override that, is there?"

"Not in the least, Captain."

"Didn't think so." He hung his head and sighed heavily. "J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Call me Steve."

"Of course, Steve. If I may, there is food in the refrigerator and fresh ground coffee beans by the coffee maker. There is also milk if you would like to take Sir's suggestion and warm some."

Steve laughed. "Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S."

He walked into the kitchen area and found the coffee pot, but the thought of it turned his stomach. Warm milk and a nap sounded better than they should have, and before he could consider what he was doing, he had found a saucepan and the milk—with J.A.R.V.I.S.'s help—and was soon sitting on the sofa sipping the warm, soothing beverage.

It was too hot, and though it burned, he welcomed the taste and the heat. He could recall his mom making warm milk for him a time or two. Drinking it, sitting beside her on their tattered sofa, he'd felt safe. He needed that feeling now.

Seeing Bucky, even if it had been his own overworked imagination that had conjured his friend, had overwhelmed him. He'd never been easily overwhelmed.

Halfway through the milk, he found his eyes drifting shut. He downed the other half of the warm liquid and stretched out on the sofa. He was asleep almost instantly.

The Avengers * The Avengers The Avengers * The Avengers * The Avengers

Tony made his way down to his lab, but his mind wasn't on the journey. Instead, he was reconsidering the Galaga option, but only half-heartedly. After having heard Steve's pleas, Tony wanted to take back the things he'd said to make Steve doubt himself. He wanted to prove to Steve that he was the hero the world thought he was.

The problem was, he didn't know if he could do that.

Tony might not find enough to prove things to Steve's satisfaction. The worry fled his mind when he saw just how many files J.A.R.V.I.S. had sent. His father's files had long ago been transferred to a digital database. Tony preferred to work that way, but he had had enough respect for his father to hang onto the boxes. There were also several boxes he had never bothered to transfer. These particular boxes were labeled Captain America, SSR, Steve Rogers, and finally, vaguely, Personal. He'd almost thrown them away. He'd been so furious with his father for so many reasons, not least of all for dying, but he'd stopped himself from destroying his father's most precious possessions. Instead, he'd stored them in a fireproof storage compartment in the floor of his lab. It had given him a perverse sense of pleasure to walk all over his father's most treasured files while he worked.

J.A.R.V.I.S had slid the floor aside, and Tony sat by the opening. As he reached inside, he realized he had almost destroyed the only data in his possession that could assuage Steve's feelings of…guilt? Regret?

He fought off a wave of panic at the thought of what he could have done in an irrational moment of hatred and anger. What had brought on such a strong emotional reaction to Steve's problems? Why was the Steve's current mental state affecting Tony at all let alone so deeply? He pushed the thoughts aside and began.

As he retrieved the first box, he called out to J.A.R.V.I.S. "Scan these and save them to the private server as I go through them, J.A.R.V.I.S."

"Yes, Sir. Standard double firewall?

Tony considered that for a moment. "No, double the double standard."

"Yes, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

Tony was oddly relieved when J.A.R.V.I.S. didn't make any additional comment.

Steeling himself for the task ahead, Tony raised the lid on the first box. Within moments, he was sifting, sorting, reading, and yes, in some ways this link to historical events captivated him. World War II was long over by the time Tony had heard mention of it in school, and here was his father's handwriting—handwriting, not typed notes, but pen to paper—describing military research and Project Rebirth.

Howard Stark was a lot of things, but Tony knew he had never been a pack rat. That would imply a level of sentimentality Tony would not ascribe to him. He hadn't kept all of these old files just out of sentimentality. He'd had a reason. Tony went through all the boxes including the ones that Howard had put together with information from after Steve's plane crash. He found mention of the tesseract and how he'd found it several months after Steve's presumed death. The research was fascinating, but Howard hadn't devoted a lot of time to it. He'd made a few notes about revisiting the project when technology had a chance to catch up, but that hadn't happened before his death.

Then Tony found something he really hadn't expected. There was an entire box on the Winter Soldier; sightings, theories, drawings based on eyewitness accounts. Howard had figured out that Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier as far back as the 1970s. He had also been adamant that he thought the introduction of the serum, even a bastardized version of it, wasn't enough to have changed Bucky, whom his father described as loyal to a fault—especially to Steve—honorable, and 'upright' of all things, into a killing machine and super assassin. He had journals full of theories on how they could have done it, but it wasn't pleasant reading. Tony couldn't let Steve see these. He was a ball of emotions right now anyway, and seeing speculation on how Hydra had destroyed his best friend and remade him into an amoral assassin—the very antithesis of Captain America—wasn't going to do him any good. If they found Bucky, he'd rethink access, but for now he'd lock them away.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., encrypt the digital files for me. No one sees them or these boxes but me. Not even Pepper. You got it?"

"Yes, Sir, Security Protocol 001. Your eyes only."

There was a lot more here than he'd imagined. Howard Stark had been nothing if not thorough. The fourth box he opened seemed to be full of nothing more than old books and notations. Or so he thought until he read what he found.


	3. Beginning

Reassurance

Chapter 3: Beginning

By Ecri

A Marvel Cinematic Universe story

Steve woke startled unable to say what had shaken him from his sleep. He glanced around the posh room, but couldn't find a clock. Then again, he'd never met anyone so disinterested in keeping time than Tony Stark.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," he called out feeling vaguely silly.

"Yes, Sir?" The British voice answered instantly, and brought to mind other, more familiar British accents.

"Can you tell me what time it is?"

"Of course, sir. It's 5:17 P.M."

Steve's stomach rumbled and he realized he had fallen asleep without eating anything. It had been about 13 hours since he'd had a substantial meal. Rising from the comfort of the sofa, he crossed to the kitchen and searched for something to eat. He looked through the cabinets thinking to grab something quick…a candy bar, one of Thor's pop tarts, or even a muffin. He checked the fridge and decided that, if Tony were doing what he asked, he could at least do something nice for him in return.

He wasn't the best cook in the world. When he was really young his mother had done the cooking, and with the lack of funds, it wasn't like she'd had elaborate recipes. After that, his meals had been infrequent at best. He and Bucky had had to live even more frugally than his mother had, and they weren't really up to more than eggs or a boiled chicken. Army life had gotten him used to the fare served in the Army mess or, if camping in some dark woods somewhere on the way to or from a mission, fish, wild game, or roots and berries.

He'd always felt terrible about the amount of food he'd needed once he'd become Captain America. Before the serum, the one thing he'd always been able to do was ignore his hunger. He had felt an odd pride that he could go so long without feeling hungry, but that had changed after Erskine's procedure. He'd tried to keep it from the other soldiers and from Bucky. He'd only been successful once, and even then, only for a few days. When he'd freed Bucky and those four hundred soldiers from Hydra's facilities, the trek back to the Colonel's base in Italy had been long, arduous, and dangerous. They had four hundred mouths to feed, and game hadn't been abundant. It had taken a bit more than a week to reach the base, since, not only did they need to feed 400 soldiers, but they also had to find a way to move through enemy territory without being seen. They'd appropriated arms and a tank or two, but most of them were traveling on foot. Moving that many soldiers through Nazi held land without being seen was a bigger challenge than he'd imagined. Though, truthfully, he hadn't really thought much past finding Bucky.

They did what they could. Fires weren't feasible. The light from that many cooking fires would have given them away, so he'd spent a lot of time distributing berries, roots, and anything else he could find that could be eaten raw. He organized them into groups—gatherers, guards, medics, and scouts. It gave everyone something to do and a distraction from their tenuous hold on freedom.

Each evening, he'd visited as many as he was able. In a group that size it would have been to easy to lose someone if they wandered off unintentionally or if they thought they'd been forgotten somewhere at the back of the group. Steve made sure no one felt abandoned.

Each night as he moved from campsite to campsite, Bucky stayed by his side. It had seemed natural at the time, and he was so glad to see his friend after thinking he'd been killed that he didn't question it. It was a few days before he realized that Bucky wasn't clinging to him. He was, as always, assessing his condition.

Turned out he also had some questions. "That Hydra guy, Schmidt?" Bucky asked.

"What about him?"

"He said he'd heard of you, of Captain America. That there were films."

Steve hung his head trying to hide the flush of embarrassment at what he'd been. "Yeah. There are a few. Things they made for the newsreels."

"And you're a Captain. How'd that happen?"

"Came with the new physique," Steve said, blushing and looking away.

Bucky nodded and kept asking questions. "No more asthma?"

"Nope," Steve replied.

"No more high-blood pressure?"

Steve shook his head.

"No weird red skull under a fake skin?"

" _What?_ No!"

"Just checking," Bucky confessed. "Listen Steve, you're looking better, but are you sure you're okay?"

"What? Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

"You seem like you're slowing down the last few days." Bucky's concern was still there. After years of worrying over sickly little Steve Rogers, Steve didn't wonder that it would take a while for his friend to accept his newfound good health.

"Well, I've never walked across Europe with four hundred soldiers before."

Bucky scowled and shook his head. "There's more to it than that. Spill it, Steve."

"Leave it, Bucky," he said looking his friend in the eye. To his surprise, Bucky dropped it, but he kept himself by Steve's side as though waiting for Steve to surprise him with some downside to his miraculous recovery, which, now that he thought about it, was pretty much what he had done. He'd kept the secret longer than he'd imagined he would, and he sometimes wondered if it hadn't rained, could he have kept it longer?

It had happened several days into their trek. The sky, which had been cloudy, was suddenly positively dim. No moon or stars to light their way, and loud, ominous cracks of thunder filled each man with dread at the thought of either continuing the march or sleeping curled up at the base of a tree as the rains poured down and the ground became mud.

One of the scouts returned and headed straight to Steve, saluted, and began his report. "We're about a quarter mile from an abandoned village. There's not much there, but there are buildings. We can get in out of the rain." Just as he said it, with a loud crack of thunder and an almost blinding flash of lightning, the rain began. Torrential, it came down in heavy sheets more like a waterfall than a rainfall. Steve explained to the men where they were headed and they moved as quickly as they were able.

Steve stood by the entrance to the small village. The buildings were obviously empty with broken windows, doors hanging open, and weeds growing everywhere. Steve spoke to the scouts who confirmed they'd examined the town as thoroughly as they were able. Steve nodded and had them herd groups into buildings. He stood at the perimeter of the town greeting the soldiers as they made their way from the forest onto what had been the town's main street. He didn't make a move to take shelter himself until he saw that everyone had somewhere relatively dry to bunk.

The rain came down heavily and incessantly throughout the night. The sound of it driving into the roof was enough to keep many of the soldiers awake. Water ran like a river down the streets and the sound of it was loud enough to discourage conversation. In the middle of the night, there was a sound, louder and closer than thunder that had Steve tearing out into the rain with Bucky and the others close behind.

A tree had fallen in the town square onto one of the buildings nearby. Steve ran for all he was worth and raced inside. He could hear Bucky calling for him to slow down, but he also heard men in there shouting for help. Inside was a mass of tree limbs, roof beams, and shingles. He waded through calling to the soldiers. Bucky and Dugan came in as well, and between them they started to get the men out and pass them to the others who waited outside.

"Bucky," a breathless Steve called as he passed one of the men out. "Do a head count. See if you can find out if anyone's missing."

Bucky nodded and disappeared as Steve and Dugan continued to comb through the wreckage. He popped back in a moment later. "One's missing. Beckett is his name. They said he was sleeping by the window."

Steve turned to the window and groaned. The tree's massive trunk had busted through that wall and rested half on the damaged windowsill. Steve moved towards it calling for the missing man. He heard a reply muffled by the debris and the sound of the still falling rain. "Here, Bucky! Dugan, over here!"

He dropped down to peer underneath the trunk. "He's alive, but hurt." Steve stood and looked at the two men with him. "I'm going to lift that tree. When I do, pull him out and get clear fast so I can drop it, understand?"

"Lift the tree? It's an old tree! It must weight thousands of pounds! Cap, that's not possible," Dugan said.

"I gotta agree, Steve," Bucky said staring at his friend as though worried he'd lost his mind.

"Trust me. I'm gonna lift on three. Okay?"

They nodded and Steve started his count.

"One,"

They crouched, ready to crawl under the tree.

"Two,"

They tensed, ready to move.

"Three,"

Steve heaved and Bucky and Dugan lunged under the massive trunk. As carefully and quickly as they were able, they pulled Beckett out and carried him towards the door. Once they were clear, Steve dropped the tree and ran after them.

Beckett was injured, but it was a clean break of his left arm. They crafted a rudimentary splint for him, and moved him and the other dozen men into another building with two field medics and plenty of volunteers who'd look after him.

Steve spoke briefly to the man who was a little dazed, but grateful to be rescued. Steve downplayed what he'd done. He didn't really want any fuss made over it. He was stronger now. It was just what he was. It was like having a special tool for a job. There was nothing special in it at all.

Back in their own shelter, they settled down for the night. Bucky and Dugan and the others stared at Steve. Dugan had told as many people as he could about what Steve had done. The story was racing through the ranks like wildfire.

"How did you do that?" Bucky asked the question the others wanted to ask.

Steve, embarrassed, shrugged. "The serum. I told you I was strong."

"I know, but I thought that was a relative term. You know, like, 'I'm stronger than I was when I was an asthmatic runt with high blood pressure and every ailment known to modern medicine'."

"Hey," Steve had never heard Bucky say anything like that about him.

"Sorry, Steve, but…are you're telling me you're superhuman?"

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm stronger than I was. We never tested how strong, but I've lifted a motorcycle over my head."

"A motorcycle."

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"Um…there were girls on it at the time."

Bucky shook his head as though that might help him make sense of the world once more. "Why?"

"The C.O. told me to," he said, bending the truth a bit.

Bucky just stared at him as though sure there was more going on as they settled down to get what sleep they could.

The rain stopped overnight, and though dawn brought the sun, the ground was muddy and treacherous. Steve knew they had to move out regardless.

They'd walked about an hour or two when Steve first stumbled. It was a little thing. He'd tripped over something, and Bucky's quick reflexes kept him from hitting the ground face first.

They walked a bit further, and he stumbled once more. Again, Bucky caught him, and again Steve brushed it off as nothing, but he could feel Bucky's stare and the disbelief and worry coming off him in waves.

The third stumble brought him to his knees, and even Bucky wasn't fast enough to stop him hitting the ground knees first. The soft ground made a smacking noise when he came down on it, and he wasn't entirely sure why he wasn't face down in the mud.

"That's it! What's going on?" Bucky shouted at him.

Steve shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Steve."

"Bucky."

Dugan laughed then. "Captain America, you said you were. He's not supposed to lie. Tell your friend what he wants to know."

By now, the men had gathered around him, and Steve felt his face burn in shame and embarrassment. He was weak again. Weak and on his knees and he'd have to confess to these soldiers that though they were all starving, he was doing it faster and would likely not make it back to camp. He didn't want to do it. He shook his head emphatically.

Bucky cursed and knelt at Steve's side. "Damn it, Steve, you saved us. Tell me what's wrong. No secrets, remember. We always said no secrets."

Steve stared at his friend for a moment. They could go on without him. He'd explain about his metabolism and order them to leave him behind. He'd hole up somewhere and follow when he could.

So out it came. He explained that they'd cured him of his illnesses, added inches to his height and weight to his frame, but the treatment had sped up his metabolism. He kept the details of the procedure to himself because he didn't think Bucky would be too happy to learn just how experimental the experiment was.

"So," Steve said, "I need to eat about four times what an average man does in order to keep going." He shrugged helplessly. "We've been walking a few days…"

"And you've been living on even less than most of us. Yesterday all you had was a handful of nuts! You self-sacrificing idiot!" Bucky spat at him.

"Bucky!" Steve wanted to justify what he'd done, but Bucky wouldn't let him.

"No! Steve, listen. It's a healthier condition, but it's still a condition. You need food. We'll get you food." Just like that. Same as always. Bucky lived his life catering to Steve's needs, and Steve had been so sure those days were over.

"No! You're all starving, too. I don't want special treatment!"

"We're living on less than we would normally, but you're living on even less, you know, percentage-wise," Bucky insisted.

"Bucky, there's nothing we can do about it. I'll hole up somewhere. I'll follow when I can. You go on."

"NO! NOT WITHOUT YOU!" The vehemence in the words and the ferocity in Bucky's eyes were not to be denied. If anything, he looked even fiercer than he had when he'd uttered the same words at the Hydra base. The shout stunned Steve and the other soldiers, but Steve tried to persuade him to see his point.

"I'll be fine," Steve said softly.

 _"No!"_

"Look, by myself, I can risk a fire. I'll catch some fish..."

 _"Not. Without. You."_

Steve blinked in the face of his friend's outrage. Each word Steve uttered made Bucky angrier until rage was all there was. Bucky's eyes were hard as stone. His face was a mask of fury. He couldn't make Bucky listen. Dizzily, he looked up at his best friend. "Bucky," his voice cracked. " _Please_ , let me do this."

Bucky put a hand to the side of Steve's face forcing Steve to meet his eyes. When he spoke again, it was calm, soft and for Steve's ears only. "Steve, you've saved us all. I know what that means to you, and I'm not trying to take that away from you, but you're _hurting_ yourself." He shook his head. "I can't let you do that. Never could. Not for anyone and certainly not for me. We're in this together. Whatever happened to you, whatever the Army scientists did to you, even if God forbid, it should all unravel, I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

Steve stared at him for a moment, trying to hold onto his desperate need to do this his way, but he couldn't stop the grin that came to him whenever one of them used those words. It had become their way of dealing with the world, a reminder to each other that they were there for each other and they didn't have to face their problems alone.

"'Til the end of the line," he echoed, and Bucky smiled knowing he'd won. Bucky had then talked to the 400 soldiers explaining that Steve had a 'condition' and needed food or he'd never make it back to base. Only the few men who'd been huddled around him when he'd fallen knew all the details, and, though he wasn't trying to keep secrets, Project Rebirth was technically classified. He couldn't tell them all.

When Bucky finished gathering what he could, Steve stared at the small mound of food. It was nothing really but a few handfuls of fruit, half a candy bar, two pieces of jerky and three handfuls of nuts, but with Bucky and a few others staring at him expectantly waiting for him to eat it, Steve found it next to impossible.

He shook his head, his fingers toying with the nuts, but not actually eating anything. "Bucky."

Bucky must have been waiting for this. He gestured for the others to give them a minute alone. Once they'd gone, technically out of earshot, but still gazing worriedly in their direction, Bucky knelt on the ground next to Steve and he spoke to him in a low, coaxing tone he'd only ever used a handful of times when Steve was being particularly stubborn. "Steve, I know what you're thinking. For what it's worth, yes, you have a point. We're all hungry. There are roughly 400 men here who need to eat. You're right, but…"

Steve groaned, but Bucky ignored him. "Listen, you saved us. We were all but dead already. You saw what they were doing to me…"

"But I didn't," Steve said looking up at Bucky. "You won't tell me, and all I saw was that they had you strapped down to a gurney…" Steve had seen more than that, but he really didn't know how to talk about it.

"That's a conversation for another time, Steve. For now, just remember, you saved us from death, or Nazi torture, or Hydra experiments, or whatever you want to call it. These men are soldiers, but they're men, too. As men, they're grateful to you. They appreciate being saved when they'd all but lost hope. Let them show their gratitude. Let them save you."

Steve shook his head once. It still didn't sit right with him, eating even this small meal when they were all hungry, but his dizziness was getting worse, and there was a dull ache behind his eyes. He knew he couldn't stand right now, and fighting was out of the question. He had to eat. There wasn't any way around that. These men had gladly given what they had in order to help him. Bucky was right. He couldn't rob them of that. He couldn't be ungrateful and refuse their offer. They had as much right to make a sacrifice for him as he had for them. So, he ate. And he had to admit he felt better. Halfway through the food, he felt his brain begin to clear, his dizziness dissipated and the ache behind his eyes was down to a dull throb. Finished, he stood, and Bucky stood close by, his entire body taut as though he were waiting to see if Steve would keel right back over.

Steve laughed. "I'm all right, Bucky. Let's get going. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

They'd walked and whenever they found a stream someone caught a few fish. Dugan had decided that if Steve could claim that he'd have made a fire to cook if they'd left him behind then they could risk one fire to cook a few fish for Steve to eat. They cooked the fish two or three at a time, and rotated cooking as many as they were able in the short time they camped, so, though Steve got two every day, the rest of the 400 took turns.

If they passed a bush or tree heavy with fruit, nuts, or seeds, the largest portion was given to Steve without a thought. Behind his back, though it eventually reached his ears, the men began to refer to it as Project Feed Cap, and they always brought their offerings to Bucky sensing perhaps that he'd be less likely to turn it down if his best friend was the one who casually passed the food to him.

The going was slow as the rain had washed out a lot of the terrain, brought down trees, and generally made obstacles out of their surroundings. They moved as quickly as they were able. The rest of their trek was uneventful, and Steve realized they were getting closer to their destination.

One morning, Steve woke earlier than normal and told Bucky that he was fairly certain they'd reach the base that day. Bucky nodded. He always believed Steve. Steve wasn't sure if the serum had improved his mind or not, but he did seem to be an uncanny judge of distance. Steve was uncharacteristically withdrawn that morning as they prepared to move out. Bucky approached him with some food.

Steve shook his head. "Give it to someone else."

"Steve," Bucky began tiredly.

"We'll be having lunch in the mess today. Give the food to someone else."

"You're going to tell me why you're getting antsy about returning to base." It wasn't a question.

"I'm what?" Steve glared at his friend.

"I can see it, Steve. Something bothers you about returning to base. Look," He looked away and then back again and took a step closer to Steve, a comforting hand resting on the younger man's shoulder. "I didn't ask because I figured you'd confide in me when you were ready. How many men did you lose?"

Steve frowned in confusion. "What?"

"How many? You must have had a team to come and get us. The army doesn't send one man rescue teams into enemy territory."

Steve looked down at the ground. "Bucky, leave it." Embarrassment flooded through him. He didn't want Bucky to know he'd been, well, what Colonel Phillips had called him: a chorus girl.

"However many it was, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

"I didn't lose anyone."

Bucky just stared at him. "What are you saying? How'd you get to us if you were alone?"

"I hitched a ride with a civilian pilot and parachuted into the tree line. I made my way to the base on foot."

"They sent you alone? With a civilian pilot? What dunderhead okayed this mission?" Bucky was furious, and Steve squirmed a little, but Bucky noticed everything where Steve was concerned. "What aren't you telling me?"

"It's not a sanctioned mission. I came on my own."

"You what?" Bucky yelled, and Steve hushed him as Bucky pulled him to the side to keep out of earshot of the men milling around them. "Steve," he whispered, "what have you done? You're AWOL! You can't do that! Did you disobey direct orders to get here? What were your orders? What unit are you with?"

The more he talked the more uncomfortable Steve grew. They'd known each other all their lives, and Bucky knew with each word he uttered that the truth was probably worse than he imagined.

"Steve, buddy, talk to me. Tell me what you did. We'll figure it out. I promise. I won't let them punish you. We'll get a lawyer. I won't let them drum you out of the service or toss you in jail."

Steve laughed. "You can't make the U.S. Army do what you want, Bucky." He swallowed whatever else he was going to say when he saw the look in Bucky's eyes. That's when he knew. If the Army decided to punish him, Bucky would take them on. If he lost, then, just like always, he'd put himself between Steve and anything that could harm him, and he would find a way to win. It didn't matter to Bucky that Steve wasn't a five foot nothing runt with asthma, high blood pressure and a list of ailments to rival the chapter page of any medical textbook. Even as Captain America, Steve Rogers would always have fighting for him.

His gaze fell to the ground at his feet. He just couldn't look his friend in the eye when he confessed this. "Bucky, I, I'm technically a Captain in the U.S. Army, but it's less official than it sounds. I…I'm in a…" He swallowed. "I'm in a U.S.O. show. I usually travel across the States putting on a show to get people to buy War Bonds." He hung his head in shame. "I punch out Hitler while the dancing girls line up behind me. I'm not a hero, Bucky. I'm not even a real soldier."

"Hey," Bucky said softly, and Steve looked up to catch his eye. Gone were the anger and fear for his safety. In its place was affection. Concern. Pride. "You just saved 400 men from a Hydra base single-handedly. You are stupid, stubborn, irritating as all hell, and you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, but you are most definitely a soldier and a hero."

A hint of a smile appeared on Steve's face as he considered his friend's words.

"Doesn't mean I forgive you."

"Forgive me? I saved your life."

"It wasn't there for you to save. You should have followed orders."

"What orders? 'Don't be late for the 7:30 show.' Or 'lift that motorcycle up higher, Rogers, we have to impress the audience.' Or 'don't worry about your best friend, _your brother_ , stuck behind enemy lines. We'll win the war for him.' Which orders should I have followed?"

"All of 'em. Any of 'em."

"Would you have?"

"'Course I would."

"If it meant leaving me behind enemy lines in the hands of Hydra agents?"

"Shut up."

Steve smiled. "Look, I'm fine. I'm apprehensive because like you said, I'm AWOL. I'm just going to march right up to Colonel Phillips and turn myself in. He has the right to punish me."

"So, a U.S.O. show? Is that why you have a star on your chest?"

"It's the costume. I was between shows when I heard you'd been killed and the rest of the 107th was dead or captured."

"Steve, how much trouble are you in?"

Steve smiled. "Nothing I can't handle."

Bucky didn't look convinced, but then another thought seemed to strike him. "Steve, you came alone." He spoke softly, his eyes on Steve like he was still working out the details in his head. Steve knew that once he did, Bucky would be as angry at him as he'd ever been in his life. "Into Nazi territory. A Hydra base. _Alone_."

Steve turned away not able to look his friend in the eye as he figured this out.

"Steve, you're a smart guy. Always were smarter than most. Look at me."

Steve did as Bucky said. Reluctantly. Unhappily. Bucky knew. Somehow, he'd guessed. His friend stared at him in utter disbelief.

"You had to know the odds of coming out of this, even with your," he waved his hand vaguely. "Serum, you had to know you weren't likely to live through this, and that the Nazis would either shoot you down or kill you on your way to the base. Even if you made it to the base, there are hundreds of them. You couldn't _know_ you'd find us all! You couldn't _know_ you'd make it."

"Bucky," Steve said desperate to stop him, but Bucky shut him down.

"You didn't expect to live." His face was a livid picture of disbelief. "You _wanted_ to die!" He took a step closer to Steve, invading his personal space as his anger made him vibrate. "It was a suicide mission, Steve! How could you do that?"

Steve was angry now. "Suicide! It wasn't. I didn't want to die. I didn't run from it, but I didn't want it! It was a chance I had to take." He shook his head in disbelief. "How could _I_? How could _you_?" He shot back. "You should have come back. You _promised_ you'd come back. I didn't want to die, but if I had to lose you…" his voice stopped working for a moment, and he turned away. "I couldn't lose you, Bucky. I couldn't lose you."

In the end, that had been what started him on this path. He'd lost a lot, endured a lot in his lifetime, but the thought, the barest hint, that he could lose Bucky had been too horrendous a burden to shoulder. He shook his head as though that would dislodge the thought and erase the image of Bucky's death. "I c-couldn't lose you, Bucky!" He repeated it until Bucky pulled him into a fierce hug and shushed him. Even then it took longer than it should have for him to cut off the words. They'd been his personal battle cry throughout the mission.

"Don't do it again." Bucky asked softly.

"Just stay out of trouble, okay?" Steve asked in return.

Bucky grinned the disarming grin that had girls chasing him all through Brooklyn. "Well, I'll be right beside you, so me staying out of trouble is entirely on your shoulders.

Steve shook his head. "We better get going."

"You really think we'll make it to base today?" Bucky asked, and Steve knew it was a distraction so they'd both be able to put the emotions behind them.

"Trust me, Bucky, by midday today, we'll be back." He gestured to the food. "Give it to someone else."

"The kid who gave it to me was happy to have a chance to help you. Don't rob him of that."

Steve let out a long sigh. "You always win, don't you?"

Bucky nodded, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Except for the time I fell into Hydra's clutches."

After several hours, they did find the perimeter of the base. One of the guards recognized a few of the men. He raced back to camp and word spread. By the time they marched into the heart of the camp, everyone had turned out to welcome them. Steve concentrated on leading the men straight into the center of the base. Before long there was cheering and laughter from those already on base as they recognized friends they'd thought were dead.

In the end, Colonel Phillips had been much more understanding that Steve had expected. Steve wondered about that, but then Bucky had laughed it off. "You marched into base with 400 soldiers behind you. Phillips couldn't throw the book at you even if he'd really wanted to. You had your own army of men willing to do anything for you."'

"You told them?"

Bucky nodded. "Right after we talked about you being AWOL. I told Dugan. Dugan told Morita who told Falsworth and Jones. Jones told Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, and Pinkerton…"

Steve held up a hand. "I get it. So, what did you do, glare menacingly at the Colonel while I turned myself in?"

"Not sure how menacing we were, but in the end I don't think it mattered. He didn't want to punish you. Knowing we would back you up regardless, well, he may not have noticed, but the other soldiers did." Bucky's grin started him laughing and, in that moment, the joy of being together made them both much happier than anyone should be in the middle of a war.

War. There was always fighting to do. Even now, even 70 years later, he was still fighting. Seventy years. If he hadn't crashed the plane, could he have found Bucky? He'd looked, but maybe he could have looked harder, or again. Someone had found him. How? How had they done that? Had he been dead and they revived him? Had he just been injured? He had found Bucky strapped to a gurney in that Hydra lab. He knew they'd been working on a serum of their own. Had they used some bastardized version of the serum as Bruce Banner had? Could he have saved Bucky all those years ago? If he had found Bucky back then, would he have still been the Winter Soldier? How far had Hydra gotten in whatever plans they'd had for Bucky?

Abashed at the meanderings of his thoughts, he turned his full attention on the food he was cooking. The omelet wouldn't pass muster to a master chef, but it was good food and plenty of it. Just as he plated it with a mess of home fries he'd managed to throw together from the last few potatoes in a bag at the back of the pantry, Tony actually emerged from his lair.

"I was just going to call, or rather have J.A.R.V.I.S. call you. I made eggs…" He glanced up at Tony's face and knew Tony had done what he'd asked.


	4. Chapter 4

Reassurance

Chapter 4: Trust

By Ecri

A Marvel Cinematic Universe story. Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed, favorited, or followed...I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I am already working on a sequel, but as this is easily twice as long as I intended, I'm sure the next one will be quite complicated and long. Thank you again. Has anyone spotted the Stan Lee cameo?

The last box Tony had found was full of journals. Each was hand written in his father's familiar script, dozens and dozens of them detailing experiments, theories, and his life's work. There were volumes explaining what he'd been doing during the war, volumes on his work with Erskine, even his personal opinion of the man. There were some detailing his relationship with Steve and Peggy Carter, and another explaining that he'd been a wanted man for a time and owed his freedom to Agent Carter and the original Jarvis. _Why,_ Tony thought, _didn't he ever tell me any of this?_ It almost sounded like bad forties detective fiction.

Project Rebirth laid claim to the largest number of the books. There was far more information on the experiment than Tony had ever imagined there could be. There were pages of notes on how he'd built the equipment, what they did with the vita rays, and why Erskine thought it would work for Steve rather than the other candidates as well as Howard's own thoughts on why it had surpassed expectations.

Howard had thought it inadvisable to continue researching the super soldier serum. He believed there was something innate about Steve that had caused the astonishing results, and he had backed it up with a lot of data, speculation, and even wild assumptions that Tony had a hard time following. The entries made Howard seem nothing if not desperate.

That desperation had driven his continuing search for Cap, and that in turn had hounded him the rest of his days. Whenever he exhibited the slightest streak of stubbornness, the press or some businessman would cite the extended search for Steve Rogers as proof that Howard Stark didn't know when to quit. His father had only succeeded in shutting down such comments when he'd glibly, arrogantly, told the press. "Quit? You know what they say about quitters. They don't become multi-millionaires."

Howard had even gotten a hold of Erskine's notes on Schmidt's transformation, and admitted in his journals that he'd lied when he told the Army that Erskine hadn't kept notes. He'd become closer to the German scientist than Tony had realized. They'd been good friends and had both a verbal and written agreement assigning the rights of each of their pieces of Project Rebirth to the other in the event that one of them died. Tony supposed that, it being wartime, it was common enough to think you might not live to see peacetime.

Comparing Schmidt to Rogers, both the processes and the transformations, Howard hadn't been able to isolate the reason they each had had such drastically different reactions. Though, in classic Stark style, he seemed to think his vita ray apparatus had a lot to do with it. Looking at the limited data, Tony had to agree.

Finally, Tony stumbled upon the entries that explained what had spawned Howard's desperation to find Cap. Had Steve not crashed and been lost at sea, Howard Stark believed he would likely have been close to immortal. The cycle of regeneration of the cells would, in theory, cause Steve's body to continue to repair itself unless something interrupted the sequence.

Not to say Steve Rogers couldn't be killed, but Howard surmised he wouldn't die of old age. He could conceivably be trapped beneath the ice healing and hurting in a never-ending cycle. It was a fate Howard desperately desired to reverse for his friend. Though Howard did admit that the super soldier metabolism could have killed him eventually. Steve did need food to survive, and it was this realization that eventually stopped his search. Though he always believed—or maybe hoped—Steve would find a way out of his icy grave.

This was important information, and Tony had no choice but to keep it to himself for a while. Steve wasn't ready to hear it. He was still reeling from his losses—more so than Tony had imagined—and to learn he was close to immortal according to Howard Stark, a man he called friend and likely respected and admired, could destroy him.

There were other concerns as well. If S.H.I.E.L.D., or rather Hydra, or even the military of any country got a hold of it, they could exploit Steve, or worse create a race of immortals who were more like Schmidt and less like Rogers. Of course, there were also people who could become fixated on the idea of immortality. Obsession with youth was, after all, nothing more than an inability of people to accept the idea of growing old and dying.

Tony felt a wave of protectiveness race through him at the thought of some crackpot getting his hands on Steve to extract the serum just to bottle immortality. He was momentarily taken aback at the depth to which the idea troubled him. Over his dead body was the only way he could describe it.

As Tony opened the last journal, which was larger and thicker than the others, something fell out from between the pages. To his surprise, there were photos. Pictures he had never seen, but that were of familiar moments, faces, and times in his life. Practically a photo essay on the life he'd led right up until his parents had been killed had hidden in the pages of the leather-bound book. He spent a few moments looking at them, smiling in spite of himself, and then he began to read. His father's handwriting described things Tony would never have thought the old man was capable of feeling.

His father's words described events and details of Tony's life about which he hadn't believed the old man had been aware. The journals were written in a conversational style. Gone was the bland and dispassionate scientist whose notes Tony usually read while he wondered how such detachment could come from a man who always seemed so angry. Gone too was that anger. In its place was a gamut of emotion. Most notable was his pride when he talked about his son and hope that they would one day work together side-by-side.

Reading it, Tony fought the long-buried emotions that surged through him. The loss of his parents hit him anew as he realized his father might just have thought more of him than he'd ever imagined.

Tony rubbed a tired hand over dry eyes. Stretching he stood and returned the file boxes to their storage space beneath the floor, but as he was about to close the last one, something caught his eye. A photo of his father standing next to Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—in Captain's dress uniform and not his spangly outfit—they were laughing. Whoever had taken the picture had snapped it at just the right moment to capture the joy in their faces. Delight danced in his father's eyes. Bucky wore a look of mischievous glee, but the thing that drew Tony's attention was Steve. His head was thrown back, his mouth open, eyes shut, as though he couldn't begin to control the laughter that had so obviously taken him. Looking at it, Tony could almost hear the hilarity that possessed the trio. He couldn't recall ever having seen either his father or Cap looking that happy.

Deciding it was a picture Steve should have, he slipped it into his pocket. Secure in the knowledge that the digital files were now encrypted and isolated, he picked up the tablet he'd been using to work out the variables on the plane crash. He had to tell Steve what he knew.

The elevator doors opened, and for a moment, Tony was disoriented. The aroma of bacon, potatoes, and coffee surprised him.

Steve saw him and called out. "I was just going to call, or rather have J.A.R.V.I.S. call you. I made eggs…"

"This," Tony said, "isn't warm milk or coffee. Tell me you took a nap."

"I did. I just…woke up." Steve said as he put a full plate in front of Tony and a heaping plate in front of himself and sat down.

Tony sighed as he took his own seat. "The Tower is sound proofed! What could have woken you?"

Steve blushed a bright red. "I haven't eaten since D.C."

Tony couldn't argue or begrudge the Super Soldier his meal. "Wow. You must be famished." Tony started in on his own food.

"Tony…do you…did you…" he couldn't find the words to ask what he needed to know, so he looked down at his food.

"Easy there, Capsicle, don't get your spangles in a twist. I did what you asked." He waved his tablet under Steve's nose. "I just have a question or two for you before I can deliver my results."

Steve wiped his hands nervously down his denim-clad thighs. "Go ahead."

"The bombs; how many?"

Steve considered that. "A few dozen or more. Each had a name of a city painted on them."

Tony nodded and typed something into the tablet. "Okay, do you know the speed you were traveling?"

Steve sighed. "Not precisely, but while we were fighting I heard a loud boom. I'd never heard anything like it before, and it made Schmidt laugh and fight harder. I didn't have any idea what that was or why it made him happy. I thought it might have been the plane breaking apart, but I can't prove that."

Tony's eyebrows tried to merge with his hairline, and he let out a low whistle. "I knew it was an experimental plane, but I didn't know it had broken the sound barrier. That's a few years ahead of Yeager's flight."

"Three years, eight months, two weeks, and three days, plus or minus several hours, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. supplied.

"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S."

"Yeager?" Steve asked, confused.

"Later." Tony checked his notes. "You were alone on board, right?"

"Yes. Schmidt…he sort of, I don't know, disintegrated."

"That," Tony said, pointing a finger at Steve, "I need to hear more about later, but for this exercise," he trailed off as he made another notation, read through the notes and put the tablet down.

"Steve," he said in a more serious tone than he'd used in years. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to understand what I'm going to say, so if you don't, if I say something in 21st Century slang that you don't get, stop me. If I speak 'scientist' _stop_ me."

"Okay." Steve nodded.

"Steve," he said again trying to be sure he did have the man's full attention. "The plane was going down. There wasn't anything you could have done to stop it even if you'd had a mind to do it. The speed, the wind, surface area of the plane, wind resistance, combined with the lack of a crew, copilot," he trailed off for a moment, but stared Steve in the eye. "You may have pointed the plane at the ground, but it was going to crash anyway. What you did kept the bombs from being detonated either on impact or later, and, from what I've read about the recovery, froze the bombs so solidly that they posed no threat to the surrounding wildlife or the oceans. You did the best thing possible in a worst-case scenario. Do you understand me?"

Steve blinked once. Twice. Tony wasn't sure what broke him. Maybe he'd expected Tony to tell him he'd been wrong, or that Tony would have found ten ways to save the world and not sacrifice himself. "What…what about Howard…Peggy was sure he could find a way…"

Tony sighed and rubbed a hand over tired eyes. He'd known Steve would argue or insist on more information. It's a good thing he'd read everything and had not succumbed to the temptation to play Galaga. He looked Steve in the eye. "Listen, my dad was a genius. He was obviously your friend. I get that. He wasn't infallible. I've listened to the tapes of your last conversation with Peggy. She would have said anything to keep you on the radio. She didn't want you to ditch the plane."

"You can't know that," Steve said.

Tony rolled his eyes in irritation. "Come on! Anyone with an ear can hear it in her voice…" Tony trailed off and switched tactics. "But suppose you're right. If it's something that can't be detected in her voice, then I'll share with you how I really know. Agent Carter told me."

Steve blinked again. "What?" He opened his mouth to say more but no sound emerged.

"Peggy was a friend of my father's. I met her a few times when I was a kid. She once told me she would have said anything to keep you from sacrificing yourself. My dad told her you did what you had to do…that it was either you or the rest of the world. Do you know what she said?" Tony stared into his apprehension filled eyes. "She said she'd have made a different choice."

Steve was silent for a long time. When he did speak, it was softly, but with an underlying sense of astonishment. "I never expected to hear you say that. I thought it was my fault. I thought you'd tell me that I missed something obvious…that there was a way out that I couldn't see, and that I didn't have to lose everything." He shook his head, and his gaze fell down to his plate, but he wasn't seeing the food. "When I realized Hydra was still around, had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D who knows how long ago, I thought it had all been a lie, that I'd failed. Ever since waking up from the ice, I consoled myself that I paid a price but for a reason. The end of Hydra and Johann Schmidt was supposed to be worth it. I'm not sure if I'd ever convinced myself, but then Hydra was back, no, worse than back. They were never really gone. To lose everything, for nothing," He shook his head. "Are—are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Cap. I have the specs on the plane from S.H.I.E.L.D., and I have data on weather conditions at the time, details on how the plane was found, what condition it was in, and its exact location. Not only did you do the best thing, but you also did it at the best time. If you'd waited any longer the distance you would have traveled would have put you where the ice wouldn't have been thick or cold enough to freeze the bombs so completely nor would it have been at precisely the correct temperature to freeze you in such a way that you could later be revived. You did the only thing that would work, the only way it would work, and in exactly—exactly!—the only place it could work as well as it did."

Steve drew in a shaky breath, staggered by the implications. He hadn't been wrong. He hadn't ruined his life for nothing. He forced his hands flat on the table trying to get exert some control over himself.

"Bucky used to say that I had no sense of self-preservation," Steve said softly as he put a hand to his head and rubbed absent-mindedly.

Tony frowned. "Well, he was right about that." Tony leaned closer to catch the other man's whispered words.

"He said I always put myself last. I thought maybe I had gotten accustomed to that, and maybe you were right…that I didn't look hard enough for real solutions." He looked up at Tony locking onto his eyes with an intensity that pinned the other man not letting him look away even if he wanted to. "I don't want to cost you or the rest of the team their lives. I don't want to make a bad decision. I don't want to go into a battle, and—and wake up in 2085. I c-couldn't h-handle that."

He cleared his throat clearly embarrassed by what he'd said.

"This is all about Bucky Barnes, isn't it?"

"Everything in my life is about Bucky. I disobeyed orders to save him during the war. If I'd never done that, if I hadn't risked everything to save him, I'd have lived the rest of my life as, as…as a chorus girl in a…spangly outfit."

Tony closed his eyes in a grimace. Spangly outfit. Damn. "Steve, I never meant…"

"Yes, you did. And you weren't the only one. Colonel Phillips called me a chorus girl long before you were a thought in your father's head. You and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot. I had unrealistic expectations of you because of Howard, and you, well, let's be honest. You hated me already, didn't you?"

"Hate is such a strong word," Tony began, but sighed as he realized he really couldn't lie to the man. "But accurate in this case. Though I would qualify that. I hated the idea of you." He waved a hand in the air describing small circles in Steve's general direction. The vague, spangly, patriotic notion of you. The legend." Tony shrugged and his features softened. "The man is a bit easier to take."

He watched as Steve reached up to massage his temple remembering that he'd done the same at the ATM. He knew Steve had been laid up. Pepper had sent the man flowers at some hospital in D.C. after the S.H.I.E.L.D. debacle. "Steve," Tony said and waited until he had the man's attention. "Are you okay?" When Steve looked at him slightly confused, Tony gestured to his head. "You were rubbing your head like that out on the street. Is it a headache? Can you even get headaches?"

Steve sighed. "I'm still human, Tony. I can be hurt, even killed. I just heal more quickly than the average human."

"Are you healed? Should you be out of the hospital?" Tony's concern was obvious, and to his chagrin, Steve looked surprised by it.

"I'm fine. I'm hungry is all. Like I said I haven't eaten anything much since I left D.C. before dawn."

"Ah, Spangles, you really need to remember to eat."

"I was in a hurry to get here," he admitted. "I needed to see you. To get the others here. I suppose, after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. I wanted to check on the team. To be sure everyone's okay."

Tony stared at Steve for a moment before continuing. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but why'd you come to me? Why not take this to Banner? You get along better with him. You like him better than you like me."

Steve looked away. "I wouldn't say I like him better. I'm just less…" he shrugged. "Less sure of you."

Tony blinked. "What does that mean? You're more comfortable around a man who can become a giant green rage monster?"

"Tony, Bruce likes me. The Other Guy even likes me. He listens to my orders in battle better than you do."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, I'll give you that, but 'Hulk, Smash' isn't really an order he'd be likely to ignore."

Steve was shaking his head. "Besides, I couldn't ask Banner these questions."

Tony frowned. "Why? He'd have helped you any way he could. Bruce respects you. You must know that."

Steve shook his head. "I couldn't. Banner's demons came from me. The serum that cursed him blessed me." He looked down, and for a moment, Tony saw defeat in the slump of his shoulders. "I know he wonders why it worked for me and not him. Sometimes, I don't even understand how Bruce can stand to be in the same room with me."

Tony shook his head. "Bruce doesn't blame you."

"Maybe he should."

"You're better than this, Steve." Tony said adamantly. "Pity parties aren't your style. Banner's problems don't come from you. You were frozen when he became the Hulk. Mistakes were made, but they weren't your mistakes." He looked Steve in the eye. "You're a good guy, Steve. My initial reaction to you aside, I can even understand why my father had such a high opinion of you."

"For what it's worth, Howard would be very proud of you."

Tony shook his head, not really sure of anything where his father was concerned anymore. Out of habit he replied as he knew Steve would expect. "He was never proud of me."

"Then I'd have had to explain to him what an ass he was." Steve smiled at Tony's obvious surprise. "Dig in," he said gesturing to the plate. "It's not gourmet, but it's good."

"You know, Steve, you used a few choice words today. That's not like you."

"I was in the Army, Tony. Do you honestly think I never used 'choice' words in my life? As I recall, I called the Chitauri 'bastards' when I told Thor to use his lightning to light them up during the battle." A flash of discontent crossed his features. "I just don't like how casual it's become."

"I also read in my father's files that you tried to get into the Army five times claiming to have been born in a different city each time. Lying, Cap?"

"Tony, I'm not the guy you think I am, or the guy the newsreels and Hollywood pictures made me out to be. That first mission, the one where I saved Bucky and 400 men from a Hydra base?" When Tony nodded, he continued. "I disobeyed a direct order to do that."

Tony's mouth moved up and down but no sound came out. Finally he smiled. "Not the Boy Scout I took you for." Tony began to eat. "

He turned back to Steve. "Before I forget," Tony said as he reached into his pocket, "I have a photo I thought you might like." He passed the small, black and white picture to the super soldier. Steve took it and gasped.

"How…where did you…"

"I found it just now…in dad's things. I think he'd have wanted you to have it."

Steve stared at the photo and a smile spread across his face. "Thanks, Tony…and…not just for this," he said as he indicated the photo.

"No need to thank me, Steve. I think we've got a lot to talk about. I'm…willing to listen now."

Steve grinned, and Tony saw the relief spreading through him for the laying to rest of the details of the crash, or maybe it was the mention of the team coming together again. They would find Bucky. They would defend the Earth. They would work together. Beyond that, the unlikely friends had made the first steps towards understanding each other.

Tony smiled. "J.A.R.V.I.S.," he called out to the AI. "Lift Avenger protocol A1."

"Yes, Sir. Ms. Potts is on her way up, and Dr. Banner should be here in an hour."

"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S." He looked at Steve. "Gang's all here, well, on their way, anyway. Eat up. I'll call the rest of them in. Then we can all debate the next steps in this S.H.I.E.L.D. debacle. Sound good?"

"Sounds good to me," Steve said, and the pair settled into a comfortable silence as they ate. When they'd finished, Steve stood to clear the plates, but he paused for a moment. "Tony," he said.

Tony looked up at him. "Yeah?"

Steve hesitated once more, but then held out his hand. Tony surprised, got to his feet and shook it. "Thank you, Tony."

Tony smiled. Steve looked better. Maybe it was the food, and maybe it was the revelation that he hadn't been wrong all those years ago. In the end, it didn't really matter. "You're welcome, Steve." Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder, and together they contacted the rest of the Avengers and waited for them to arrive.

End


End file.
